Redemption
by Olsdalova
Summary: There are some rules, that cannot be broken. John Wick after killing D'Antonio in Continental's bar starts a fight for his own life. All the killers want him dead, so they can have the 14 million pay-check for his head. Excommunicated, he fight with time, so he can get out alive from all the mess he did himself. He'll find his ally in a person from his past. /currently in editing/
1. Prologue

An hour. That's all he got. Sixty minutes and not one more.

"Winston... Tell them. Tell them all... Whoever comes, whoever it will be... I will kill them. I will kill them all."

"Of course you'll do!" the older man looked at him smiling. Earlier that moment he gave him a Signum with a bloody fingerprint. Just in case. Apart from the rules, that made him put John excommunicado, they were still good friends.

They knew each other since the very beginning.

Wick had no choice, he had to be prepared for everything, for every shadow that will wait for him around every corner willing to kill him and earn the amount of money that's offered for his death.

He knew where to go, he knew places he could get the last bits of help that could be offered to him. He knew in which place he'll get the appropriate amount of weapons. But the one thing he didn't knew was what to do with that sad face that was now running right next to him by his legs. His pitbull was probably wondering what was going on right now and where they were running so fast. John decided, that once more, he'll give him "for safekeeping" to Charon, the concierge from New York's Continental. Charon had the softest heart for animals you could ever possibly imagine. The Dog will be in great hands.

Overall Charon wasn't quite happy about babysitting John's dog once again, but the smiling face of the pitbull softened his heart.

"He still doesn't have a name, does he?" he asked.

"Just call him _Dog_ " John said in reply "stay!" he patted Dog's head. His pitbull softly whined.

"Will you come and get him, later?" The Concierge slided his glasses to the tip of his nose.

"You should know that I can't make this promise."

Wick gave the man two gold coins and ran out of the Continental building. There were only forty-five minutes left and all he did was dropping off the dog.

He sat in a room at the end of the town. He was waiting for Aurelio, who was supposed to drive him to the airport and then drop him safely to London. Last twenty minutes. Were they enough to arrive at the airport and board a private jet?

He had to run out of this city, it was the only thing he was certain about. Most of his colleagues were nearby London. So he had a chance of surviving. He counted on their help, but he knew that he himself was the only one person he could fully count on.

Well, we all will see how this all ends.


	2. Chapter 1: Your suicide is not a plan

John was sitting at the edge of his bed, cold floor cooling his feet. He was wondering if the other got a track of him already. If anyone knew where he was hiding.

Lying at the table beside his bed, there was a bracelet that belonged to his deceased wife and right next to it a collar of his murdered dog, the item he scrapped out of the ashes from his burned home.

He had no idea what will happen now. For the first time he had no idea what to do. All of the phone numbers he had carefully remembered won't get him out at this point.

 _Excommunicado_.

The only thing that was worse than death.

They cut you loose from any supplies. From your allies, from hotels, friends, supplies, from the goddamn whole world. No matter how many gold coins he had, they won't help even a tiny bit.

Isn't it the thing that he wanted? To cut himself from his past life, to forget about it. He wanted to make things right with Helen, to have a new life, to start all over once more.

But the happiness from having a normal life didn't last long.

His wife died after losing a battle with illness and he was alone. Son of a russian mobster – Iosef Tarasov – has killed from him the last remain of his deceased wife which was a beagle puppy. A little Daisy that suddenly bloomed in his life and planted new hope.

Then he had stolen John's car and totally unaware of whom he crossed his path, he just got home. John had no choice, he had to get back to his old way of living and show them all, that Wick isn't a person you can mess with.

It all happened because of that fucking Signum. If he didn't asked D'Antonio to help him finish with his old life, all of this wouldn't happen. His pride wouldn't let him leave D'Antonio alone. He HAD to kill him. It's doesn't matter where he would end his life, whether it be out on a street or at Continental's ground.

John just pulled the fucking trigger of his gun, that was all.

Back then, in hotel's bar, he wasn't really thinking straight. The only thing that he had on his mind was to kill D'Antonio. And so he did.

Even tho he was mainly focused on getting revenge, he thought he saw a familiar face.

HER.

Long, blonde hair. They were red back in the days, it looked like he wasn't the only one that changed during all of those years that've passed by since their last meeting.

Wick wasn't really sure if he was just seeing things. Maybe it was her, but maybe it was just a delusion. Another one of the Death's Messenger, who was lurking at him from behind every corner.

He hadn't seen her in ages. Maybe if they said their goodbyes in a different way, they'll still be in touch. After all this time he still remembered her number. He remembered it perfectly. But when he had the courage to call her, the voice in his phone said "invalid number".

She preferred to forget. About him. About THEIR past. About those things they shared, those memories they had. His wife, in the time they started seeing each other, was only a band-aid with whom he was covering the bleeding hole in his heart, that SHE left there. Some time has passed before he truly fell for her and before she became his wife. She made him forget all the wars he's lost. About the feeling he had some time ago. About loving. It was the crazy kind of love. And it was stronger then an explosion of landmine. He hadn't felt anything similar for his wife. He felt like this only with HER.

John was still sitting at the edge of his bed, now looking at the weapons hanging on the wall across the room. All of this guns, grenades and machine guns wouldn't help him when it comes to things that could happen.

It was too easy for him just grab one of his Glock's, put it against his head and pull the trigger. It wasn't his style. Suicide was not a part of his plan. He had a mission. And the mission was: to survive and to punish other. You simply just don't mess with Baba Yaga. Even if you're one of the twelve around the Table. He could brush the dust of his old connections, but only if he wouldn't hear another voice speaking "invalid number" in his phone.

He finally got up from his bed and walked to the table across the room. He took the phone in his hands, entered the number and waited for someone to answer his call. After few signals he heard a familiar, but long time no heard, man's voice: - Ainsworth, how may I help you?

"It's John…" he breathed into the speaker.

"John Wick, my old friend!" Ainsworth cheered up on the other side of the line. "You still alive?"

"I need your h-help" his voice cracked, but he hid it behind a cough "like in the OLD days" he added up grabbing the side of the glass table with his hand and squeezing it roughly.

Few cracks showed up on the surface and he let go of it, not wanting to destroy it completely.

"Whatever you need. Just tell me where you are."

"Carshalton."

"Jimmy's Pub, half an hour" Ainsworth said and ended the call.

John got dressed in one of his suits with bulletproof lining, just in case. In holsters that were hanging at his sides, he put two of his Glocks with six spare clips and headed slowly to the pub.

Which wasn't a posh place. Jimmy's was one of those pubs that looked like an absolute shithole and should be closed due to the construction issues. Or it shouldn't be opened at all.

Nobody, without a longlasting death wish, wouldn't even thought of going inside and having a pint. That's why his mates decided that Jimmy's was, in fact, a perfect place to hang out after finishing their jobs.

He slowly sauntered inside, his hand gripping the gun tightly, index finger near the trigger, ready to press it in any given moment. The place was empty, except for the usual bartender and a blonde woman who occupied the table in the farest corner. He didn't caught her face, cause all he could see was her naked back staring at him from her backless blouse.

The bartender was polishing the freshly washed glasses, eyeing John since the moment he walked inside. Sitting on one of the tall chairs by the bar, his gaze glued to the woman's figure, that seemed surprisingly familiar to him, he leaned towards the overweight man, who was still focused on rubbing the glasses with the cleaning cloth he held in his hands.

"Bourbon on ice" his voice demanding made the words that left his mouth sound like a request, that needed to be fulfilled within the moment. Nonchalantly, he threw the five pound bill onto the dirty counter and furrowed his brows, one corner of his mouth raised in a half-grin, like he was trying to show the man that he'd kick his head in if he don't get his drink asap.

Bartender groaned something incoherently, grabbed the metal shuffle in one hand, bourbon bottle in other and poured the liquor into the glass while throwing the ice cubes into it, right after he dug them out from the ice container. He placed the drink on the counter in front of John with a loud clanking sound and then disappeared behind a pair of worn wooden doors that lead the back area, with another set of incoherent groans following his moves.

The blonde has also vanished from the seat she was occupying, leaving an empty glass on top of the table, that was standing by the smudged windows. He could have sworn that there was something written on the dirty glass.

Leaning further onto the bar, half empty glass in his hand, trying to have a better look onto the window. It looked like she smeared it, by using her finger, with the dirt that was stuck to the cold surface of the window pane; just one, simple word: RUN.

Before there was any time to react to those three letters written out with filth the front door, that he had behind his back now, opened with a harshly loud squeak and he heard three pairs of steps that walked inside. He hasn't flinched in his seat, nor reacted to the fact that he was caught in an ambush in any other way; he just kept sitting comfortably in the bar stool, sipping his cold bourbon, doesn't bothered with turning around.

"Mister Wick" a male voice spoke calmly, stressing out his last name. There was no other noise around them, well except for the overly loud air conditioning that was buzzing above their heads, so it meant that they stopped from moving further and stood still, staring at his back from a comfortable distance.

He took one last sip from his glass and juggled it in his hand. The reflections of the three men were visible in the shattered piece of glass that was hung behind the shelves with liquor. Dressed sharply in black suits with pearly white shirts underneath then, guns in their hands, but they weren't pointed in his direction, not yet.

"Well, looks like you've found me. Shame on you" the sound of them clicking their safeties off made him sit up, the muscles in his arms tense, his hand gripping the glass firmly.

It was only one glass, only one chance.

"You know why we are here, so please, don't make it too hard" their hands were slowly raising, each one of them holding a simple handgun. Of course he expected that when the time comes, and the need of him getting captured and brought to justice will arose, they would have better equipment or, at least, something semi-automatic.

"How could I make things too hard? They're always easy…" the manner he spoke with was making them uneasy and he could sense it. He could smell their fear even from this distance.

The wall mounted mirror, shattered in various places, was still doing its finest job of reflecting things and he noticed how one of the man's hand was trembling, the gun he held wobbling in his grip.

"Always easy" John repeated himself, weighting the glass in his palm. He spun it in his hand few times, trying to think fast. He had two options: walking out of here slightly injured or being carried out in a plastic bag.

One glass, one chance.

As the seconds passed he already had a scenario ready, so the few upcoming ones were pre planned.

Right after making a 180 degree turn in his stool, Wick threw the glass in the face of the man with trembling hands, then he leapt over the counter, avoiding the shots that were fired in his direction. All he had left were two Glocks, with only six additional mags, not much for a big shootout, that's why he had to make every bullet count.

The mirror rearing the shelves was being torn into bits now, the sharp pieces falling onto the floor right behind him, scattered all over the site. He took out his own guns from the holsters he had striped to his own body under the suit jacket, clicked the safety off on them both and was ready to pop out, and fire them in their direction.

But the sound of their gunfire was interrupted by another shots that were fired and they weren't his. There was somebody else in this place with the four of them. The air was getting cut through with every bullet, they were flying from one side to another, smashing more glass that kept falling onto the floor making hell load of a noise.

Where there was nothing more left and the whole place was filled with nothing, but silence, he slowly got back up to a standing position and when his head peaked up from behind the bar, he felt the coldness of a muzzle pressed to his forehead.

Half of his hair has fallen onto his face, so the figure that was standing in front of him now, arm upright, the gun she held pressed to his temple, wasn't as clearly visible as he'd like to see her.

"Guns. On the counter. Now" her voice was cold, demanding, but he felt like he heard it somewhere before.

He placed both of his Glocks in front of her, as she told him to, and slid them further away. Gripping the edge of the bar he gritted his teeth, his adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, muscles tensed. "How come Wick, guess you can call it a favour," she breathed out, pressing her gun closer to his skin, "it's your lucky day! You're walking out of here alive" he was clenching his hands too tightly, his knuckles were almost pale now; it's seemed like he was about to rip out a piece out of the wooden plank, "or are you?"

In the opposition to the coldness of the metal still being shoved right onto his face, he felt the warmth of her hand that was brushing all of his outgrown hair away from his eyes.

And then he recognized her.

She was standing in front of the bar, her hand extended over the wooden countertop.

"I think that I got all of them… just for you, Wick" the familiar voice flooded his ears.

Yet now he looked like he saw a ghost. So many years passed... And now she was standing in front of him. The deadly beauty he already met, cascades of her blonde hair now wrapped in a tight ponytail atop of her head. Slim fingers of her almost pale hand wrapped around the gun, which he could assume was a Beretta with a silencer on its end, ended in nails painted with a juicy crimson varnish. Cockish grin on her rouged lips, eyes fixed on him.

He never had a single thought that he will see her here. Shithole near London. Z- class bar. Fucking Ainsworth. He probably set him up…

"Ainsworth is dead" she said, like he was reading his mind, "I found him fifteen minutes after he received your call. I counted fourteen bullets. They even broke his arms and legs. I bet it sounds familiar…"

John hasn't heard her voice for so long... It felt like an angel was speaking to him. An Angel of Death.

They haven't seen each other in ages and now she's here. Holding a gun pointed to the very center of his forehead.

"Don't know what you've come here for, but I bet it wasn't me" he spoke calmly raising his hands upwards, showing her that he surrenders.

Her hand flinched, but she pushed the gun further into his forehead, "It was you, _Jonathan_ , I knew you needed saving" she smiled, with the smile that could set the whole room on fire, the one he fell in love with when they met for the first time back in the war zone.

Isobel.

His guardian angel.


	3. Chapter 2: You know I will see you again

"I hope that you are well aware of breaking the main and crucial rule we have?" the man looked at her like he was about to say, that they can't do shit to him.

His black, quite too long hair was falling on his bruised and scratched face. It wasn't showing any emotions. Her right hand, in which she was holding a gun, slightly trembled once again.

It seemed like he noticed the slight movement. He fastened his hand grip on the fresh glass filled with bourbon and then he took a slow sip from it. And then John JUST smiled.

" _Excommunicado_ " she said, looking at his hand clenched around the glass. She was struggling with analyzing the number of methods in which he was able to kill her.

Well, probably the glass he was holding wasn't made from tempered glass, admittedly it had two different cuts, but it wasn't a really solid work. All the effort you had to make was to squeeze it really hard and it will be shattered in pieces which you could easily use to stab someone right into their artery.

" _Excommunicado_ " he repeated after her, which made her snap back into reality. "That's why I'm here now, not at Continental's bar. How did you found me in this total shithole?" he finally stopped looking at his drink and fixed his eyes on her.

He probably was thinking exactly the same stuff she was. The glass.

"You are well aware of the bounty that was made for your head. And as I assume you are as well aware about the fact, that anyone could show up here, not only me. So for the sake of old times..."

"Just do it" he interrupted her speech, drank all of the liquor from his glass and then throw it to the floor. He turned slightly to be right in front of her. Feeling the cold metal of the silencer from her Beretta he grinned widely.

Long fingers of her slim hand, ending in long, bloody red nails were still having a strong grip on the gun. On different occasion he'd probably feel jealous, "I know your dignity won't make you shoot me in the back. Do it. Pull the trigger" he grabbed the silencer and pressed it harder to his forehead.

"For the sake of old times, John Wick" the metal barrel slid off his head and the noise from a gunshot made him temporarily deaf. The glass pane that was located on the side wall turned into a sharp carpet.

Along with the pieces on the floor there was a now dead body of a man, with a bullet right between his eyes. The body looked like on of D'Antonio henchmen's, which could be proved easily by the locket he had around his neck.

"How...?" John started, but he never finished his question amazed by the shot the woman just made. He turned around on his heel and walked up to the corpse.

"Woman's intuition" she said while hiding her gun into a holster she was wearing on her hip, "those good old times, John" Isobel smiled with the prettiest smile he had ever seen and then walked out of the bar slamming the door behind her.

Wick, still stunned with the close gunshot, wasn't able to comprehend what the hell has just happened. All he did was repeating her words in his head: "for the sake of old times".

The old times, that she kept mentioning, happened long before John Wick got his famous Baba Yaga nickname.

They met long before his gun for hire career, both young, neatly trained in combat, connected with an elite military unit in their past. They tried to work together, maybe in the not-so-far future they'll end up as a great couple, but they had different views.

He believed a lot in principles, was fond of his mentor Marcus. She was an ideal being herself. Tall, with long red hair, which in times of duty she wore braided. Her eyes always bright and sparkling, every guy from their unit was in love with her.

After few she got the highest rank and became the commander of the most important battalion. He had no idea how much effort she had to put in this to achieve all of it. How big amount blood, sweat and tears were playing the lead role in her achievement. John had no idea how she really was, he always looked at her by the number of stars on her uniform beam.

Isobel was really really far from the ideal image he had of her in his mind. Of course she could whip as many ass as you could ever imagine, also she was the greatest shooter, but deep inside her soul she had an entire universe of her own.

Even with all the ass kicking and shooting stuff she still was a fragile being, who wanted to save every living creature they found on their way riding through the burned villages, which were overwhelmed with war.

He hadn't seen her for some years, after they took their own paths. He thought that she was looking more amazing then she used to. She was more rounded in some places, but she still looked like a full time model. Her red hair surprisingly blonde now, but it made her more bold. She wasn't the mean redhead type, she just had a tight grip on a reality.

The man still couldn't understand why she didn't shoot him. He was well aware that any assassin would just pull the trigger and kill the, yet still living, legend of the underground world. 14 million dollars. That was the price for his death. She could rule the world with all of this money.

Knowing that he was trying to live a usual life. That he gave his Signum to D'Antonio, because he was capable of making the impossible: to help John turn his back on the underground way of living. She was aware of the fact that he had a wife, which he's lost later in a tragic way. She knew what happened to Iosef Tarasov and his father. She knew fucking well what happened in Italy.

John had no idea that she had the same resources and power the italian man had. If he gave his Signum to her, Isobel would help him way better than D'Antonio did.

And it all wouldn't end with an excommunicado. She just simply wouldn't let that happen, especially after all those things they shared back in time. As every person she regretted many of her decisions, but one particular mostly. Those about no one knew, even her closest friends. There are some things you shouldn't say a single word about, because if you do your enemies will use them against you.

She was still standing in front of the bar, the heavy English rain drenching her right to the bones.

He was still wondering, analysing her every move, every wink of an eye. Maybe he should run after her, stop her? No, it wasn't John Wick's style...

The blonde jumped after hearing the door's squeak behind her.

"I think you can help me" he said, "I'm not the guy who is dead on the floor with a bullet in his brain, so it means…" John stopped, taking a step towards her.

"It means what?" her voice trembled just like she was, standing in the soaked clothes, cold, trying to save the word on her own without eating a proper breakfast.

"It means that you have the resources about which I have no idea."

"Old times, John. Two words: _old times_ " she looked at him. It was just a moment right after he walked out of the pub and now he was just wet as she was.

His black hair... even though hers were red back then, everyone was still laughing at them, saying that they looked like siblings. When their path never crossed again, until now, she dyed her hair blonde, because she needed to separate herself from her past. Needed a new start. A new look.

"What happened between us back then?" his voice muffled by the heavy rain sounded differently to him and the question he asked echoed in his ears in an unpleasant way.

"It's a really hard question John…" she couldn't find the strength to look up at him now.

Wick followed her back to the car, which was located two blocks away from the pub. They both sat inside it and fastened their seatbelts. She started the engine which responded with a soft purring noise. He was sitting in the passenger seat and couldn't stop staring at her.

 _She was the lead of the convoy that was delivering parts for building the wells to another village that was only half a day ride from their base._

 _Why they've chosen her for the lead? She knew what to do if they'll ever get into a cross fire. She was extremely well trained for every possibility. She took John as her right hand, because he trusted him. They made the dream team. They could rely on each other in every kind of situation._

 _The convoy was taking place smoothly now. They rode on a hot asphalt, driving by single huts located by the road. The heat was really annoying. She had a tight grip on the steering wheel with her both hands. They knew the road, plus it was supposed to be checked earlier that day. Asphalt was smooth, easy to drive on._

 _When they were just outside the village, the hummer she drove jumped slightly. She thought it probably drove over some kind of branch fallen from a dead tree, but there were no trees near the road._

 _In a split-second she pushed the gas pedal right to the floor of the car and honked three times. Right behind her car she heard a massive explosion. She stopped three meters further on the road. She pulled the hand brake and got out of the car with John. He knew perfectly what just happened. When they walked behind their car they saw a huge hole in the road. It was bigger than four meters and ended right next to their car's back bumper._

" _Is everyone okay?!" she shouted, and the falling dust revealed the car which transported the parts for the well._

 _Or rather what was left of it. The driver's part of the car was completely gone, replaced by an enormous hole. The concrete well parts were shattered all over the place, mixed with bloody stains and whatever was remaining of the two people who were sitting in that car._

" _FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" she cursed out loud. "Wick, we have to report this!" outside of the barracks she never called him by his name. The other form was exclusive to the moments in which they were the only couple in the room. She went around the hole from her right side. She thought she could find the tags of the dead soldiers, but with explosion that massive it was nearly impossible they'd stay intact._

 _She walked away from the road and stepped on the dirt. Then she heard a small clicking sound and was dragged backwards in a fast motion by man's arms._

 _Isobel turned her head and saw John who was pulling her closer to him. She didn't had the time to say anything, because there was another explosion right behind their back. The blast wave swept them off their feet and make them collide onto their car._

 _They fell onto the road right next to it._

 _With being unaware of what just happened the only thing she felt right now was a piercing back pain. She was lying on John with her breast pushed closely to his chest. She looked at his face and saw that there was blood flowing from few wounds he had on it. Also, she saw that in those wounds were some small silver balls. Balls from ball bearings._

 _It wasn't possible for her to see, but she had them in her back, her arms and in her thighs. And with them there were some nails and pieces of old tinplate._

 _Bomb with stuffing, as they used to call self-made explosives. Terrorists stuffed their bombs with anything that could possibly grant more damage than just regular TNT._

 _After few second she finally gained consciousness of what just happened. She felt some liquid running down her back. Blood. Was it hers? She took her helmet when she walked out of the vehicle, because its windows were made from bulletproof glass with high level of resistance. But now, this helmet, or more the lack of it, would decide about her being dead or alive._

 _It wasn't her blood._

 _It was John's._

She looked at John's hands. Soft, white marks were still visible on them, and reminded her about all the fights he had, but for her, there were a sign of a totally different thing. He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, revealing all of the scar-tattoos he had on his arms.

Knowing that if she decided to touch his arms, under her fingertips she'll feel great amount of them old scars, she stopped her hands from moving. He has sacrificed himself for her many times. She knew that she had to do the same for him now and thought that the one last time she saw him, was back in theirs New York apartment right before she walked out of it and never came back. But the fortune had another plan for them.

"I was there, at the Continental bar" she took a deep breath "when you killed D'Antonio. I spoke to Winston right after that. He was pissed at you. But I bet you are well aware of the aftermath" John looked at her surprised by all of the words that just left her mouth. Isobel found the courage to finally look him in the eye once again and caught his surprised glance.

So it was really her then. Those blonde hair, hazel eyes in whose he could just simply drown…

"I didn't tried to stop you, because I knew you will do it anyway. Damn it John! You will pull that trigger even if you'll get a revelation of god himself telling you not to!" she was sitting straight up, now with her eyes on the wet road in front of them.

If she'd only spoke at that time or reacted somehow... FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.


	4. Chapter 3: There's nothing left to die

_The sun was shining high at the sky. Iraq. Military base. There was a neighbourhood village nearby. Red haired woman dressed in khaki pants and matching T-shirt was seating on the steps that leaded to the main barrack. Young german shepard was lying near her, with his face pressed to her lap, his tail wiggling back and forth. The military dog was staring at the man that seated himself near them, slowly smoking a cigarette._

 _If only the good boy could talk... he'd probably tell them both that they should be together. Everyone knew about the electric feeling they shared. About the way the duo stared at each other. Nonetheless the pair never admitted that there was something more than just pure friendship between them._

 _The silence was broken by the loud noise of a siren._

 _Everyone stopped doing theirs free time errands and runned to their barracks, because they had to get dressed in their military gear. Woman with her four legged best friend got quickly into their tempSomeone, who doesn't know they were in the middle of a war zone, could just laugh and say that they together orary house and got dressed into everything she had to wear on their apparently upcoming mission. Even her dog got to wear a military vest and a helmet._

 _looked like a couple taken straight of a "Call of Duty's" gameplay. But this war were totally real. And the number of lives you got was limited to only one. They couldn't make a single was time for only short briefing before boarding the chopper. Everyone was geared up and waiting for her to say few words. Everyone except for one person._

" _Where the fuck is Jonathan?" she asked her squad that was slightly annoyed by his absence. Everyone stared at each other confused, knowing that the unwanted delay would get everyone in trouble._

" _Right behind you, love" Wick breathed almost silently from behind her, still zipping up his vest._

" _First of all, don't fucking "love" me. I'm your commander, not your lover!" he mouthed what a shame in response making her brows furrow even more._

 _She took a deep breath, squeezing the handle of her dog's harness with her gloved hand, "and second of all" another pause, another breath, "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LATE? You know what, don't answer" he opened his mouth to say something, but the woman silenced him with a hand gesture. "Next fucking time anyone who'll be late won't fly with us. IS THAT CLEAR?" she shouted to her team._

" _YES MA'AM!" they all answered in an unison._

" _Now, everyone, to the choppa!" she commanded, the tone of her voice able to cut through steel wall. Wick stopped her from grabbing her gear by squeezing her arm gently. He left his hand there and waited for some kind of response from her. Anything, even a single vowel would do in that moment._

 _The dog was still sitting next to her looking at them both with confusion, tilting his head from side to side. Isobel has thrown John's hand off her arm, grabbed her backpack and followed everyone to the heli. Her pup has done the same, silently following her every move, just like a shadow. Jonathan was bewildered about everything that just happened, the thought in his mind mixing one into another, but he followed her without showing it._

 _The whole unit boarded the chopper and they flew from the base._

London's Continental was slightly different from any other hotel they had in theirs network. The first thing that made it unique was its location in the heart of the city. It was easy to get here by every form of transport, yet they never recommended getting there by jumping out of a plane with a parachute.

The second was the way it was designed. The harsh old fassade hid a modern and tasteful interior full of led lights and settees wrapped in fake leather. All of the visual bits sewn together where making a really great picture, people loved to stay at the London's branch.

Finally, the third one was its Manager.

Sybil was definitely an extraordinary persona. She had slim body full of tattoos, that were covering almost every part of it. As all of hotel's Managers she was always available to catch at the facility. Her presence was always highlighted by the cigarette smoke. She was good looking, the woman never looked her age, was in great shape, but she smoked like an old factory. Three packs a day were the lowest minimum.

Everytime she was about to enter a room firstly you smelled her smokes mixed with the same brand of perfume she used for years, then you heard the clicking of the extremely high heels she always wore, because to be honest: she wasn't the tallest person.

Certainly she got the looks, the wit, and of course the intellect, that was needed for this particular way of living, but apparently The Universe didn't shared its height resources with her. Overall, she was as deadly as every killer, and the looks she had was a key for every door she had to walk through. Maybe she won't kill you with a fucking pencil (like John can), but she already mastered the usage of every weapon humankind has ever created.

It's kinda easy to guess that Sybil and Isobel were best friends. They've known each other since their young ages, both rather not to speak about their past. They shared an amazing bond, they always were closer than sisters. So of course Sybil was the first one to know about her plan.

Isobel and John were sitting in Continental's bar longue getting drunk with the second half of bourbon bottle, which was more expensive than average paycheck in the whole country. She was really aware of what will happen if anyone from the High Table would get to know what is going on right now. So the temporary closing of the whole building due to "renovation" was a great cover-up for their actions and for everything that was going on in it right now.

She knew what happened to D'Antonio's sister and that he was the exact person who opened the account on her. She knew how she ended her own life her own way. The Queen slit her wrists on her coronation ball. She was supposed to take one of the twelve chairs in the High Table. But her brother decided, that she wasn't "enough" to be a part of the greatest.

"Well, I bet you don't really know that, nor had the chance of knowing, but I was supposed to be a part of the High Table, just like Gianna was," she stopped for a moment, to take a big gulp from her own glass, "but I resigned" she finished while handing a glass filled with alcohol to John.

Sybil was seated across from them, currently having a really hard time with keeping her mouth shut and not spilling the tea about every little thing that happened in their then shared past.

"Why you decided to resign?" John asked her, his eyes stuck to her face, hand fiddling with the drink.

"You would fit there" Sybil finally spoke after some time of biting her tongue. Isobel got annoyed by her friend's words just rolled eyes, then took a long sip from her own drink dowing the contents of her glass.

"You know she's absolutely right" John looked at the raven haired woman behind the bar, "you have the brains, skills and right now I know that you also have the resources."

"John Wick says I'm right. It's my fucking lucky day!" the irony in her voice flooded the room and she just took another sip from the vodka bottle she was holding in her hand.

"Well…" Isobel placed the glass onto the countertop with a clinging sound, "I rejected the offer. Because of their methods and because they would have approved your account no matter how many things you have done for them. I just couldn't stand there and do nothing when they were voting on your case. Then I knew that I still care. So I objected to everything they did."

"Like it changed anything" Wick was surprised by her words, especially the "I knew that I still care" part. His lips touched the edge of the carved glass, but he stopped and put the glass onto the counter.

"Maybe it didn't changed a thing, but it made them think. My family's opinion always had a great impact of everything High Table did and now they knew that maybe my ancestors followed them blindly, but I won't do it," he could see the fire that got lit in her eyes, the memories flooding her mind with various flashbacks, "I have my own view on things. I'm not fucking blind. You probably remember what you had to do for the Tarasov family some time ago?" John just silently nodded his head taking the glass back in his hand and taking a fast sip from it.

The pause she made was hurtful, the silence was definitely longer than it should have been.

"It was my family that approved it. You see…" she grabbed the almost empty bourbon bottle and took a swig of what's left of its content, "the balance in nature sometimes manifests itself with an art of being a total motherfucker."

 _Crimson haired woman was kneeling on the dirt with her head leaning on the german shepard's side. She could still smell the scent of dog shampoo on his fur. Her four legged partner was lying on the ground not showing any signs of breathing, nor movement. Isobel's crying was silenced by the sound of gunfire that took place all around her._

 _Suddenly she felt a strong tug on her vest and was brutally yanked backwards. Right in the place where she was kneeling just a few seconds ago a missile fell and exploded wounding slightly her bare hand._

 _Wick was still holding her by the handle of the tactical vest with his one hand, while he was slapping her in the face with the other, "Put yourself together! THINK FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" he shouted, slapping her again, but much harder this time._

 _It took her some time to even process what just happened. They were hidden safely behind something that looked like a wall which back in time belonged to some sort of building. She reloaded her weapon and started to shoot any terrorist she could possibly see._

 _When they all run out of bullets, the gunfire ended and the dust fell back to the ground, they were finally able to recap all of the casualties._

 _Four killed terrorists. Two dead soldiers. Ten mildly injured ones._

 _And a best friend lost._

 _The bravest and the most lovable dog in the whole world. Admiral._


End file.
